Tilt
by Isabeau of Greenlea
Summary: As the son of a teyrn, Corin Cousland can afford a very expensive hobby.  And it gets him into trouble.  A glimpse of his life before DAO. Rated M for strong language.
1. Chapter 1

My one gripe about Thedas is that there are no horses in it, though there references to them. _Chevalier_, much? Oxen and brontos and even riding wyverns, for Maker's sake, but no horses. So this story is mostly about horses. If you don't like horses, you should probably skip it. Of course there are also some parts about Corin's life pre-DAO that you might find interesting, but mostly, it's about horses. You have been warned.

I should also add that it always seemed silly to me that Landra was supposedly one of Eleanor's great good friends, yet Dairren acts like he's hardly ever met the Cousland. So you may safely assume here that Corin has spent a good amount of time with Bann Loren's family.

This story was written for the Cheeky Monkeys Secondary Character challenge, but I'm not sure it fits the prompt particularly well.

* * *

><p>It had been just like the old nursery rhyme, Fergus Cousland reflected afterwards. <em>For want of a nail, the shoe was lost, for want of a shoe; the horse was lost…<em>Though the horse wasn't lost, precisely. She was Corin's saddle mare, and standing in her stall when the shoe came lose. But they had already been well past the time to leave for Bann Loren's tournament.

"I'll just take Beauvisage instead," his younger brother had said, shrugging. Amabelle was a beautiful, spirited, well-trained mare and he enjoyed showing her paces off for the girls, but Corin was an even-tempered fellow, and took setbacks well for someone deep into the throes of adolescence. "Dairren was saying last tournament that he wanted to try holding a lance. I'll bring Beau's stuff and let Dairren get a feel for it. Hey, Damon!" he called across the courtyard towards the armory door. "Would you get my lances and my jousting armor and throw them in the back of the equipment wagon? Thanks!" He went back into the tack room to collect the jousting barding and put it in the wagon himself, and then hurried to saddle his second horse.

Beauvisage was anything but pretty, despite the name. A retired war stallion, he was Corin's mount for learning the finer forms of equitation, an art not much practiced in Ferelden because it was considered a pompous, Orlesian affectation. Fereldens had no trouble hunting animals over fields and through forests on horseback, though they often dismounted for the kill itself. But fighting on horseback, or learning the art of jousting with the long lance was something few of the nobility troubled themselves to master-it brought back too many memories of the Orlesian occupation. Most tournaments in Ferelden were fought exclusively on foot. It was only in Denerim or Amaranthine that you might see tournaments with an actual mounted division. If you wanted to be a serious jouster, you had to go to Orlais.

This was why Bryce Cousland had been so resistant to the idea of his son learning to tilt. As second son, it was true that Corin was going to have to find something to do with his life, but becoming a wandering tournament champion was not what the Teyrn of Highever considered to be an optimal career choice. Though Corin was the most accomplished horseman in the family, it had taken a solid year of pleading on his part after he turned fourteen to convince his father to hire a retired Orlesian chevalier to train him to joust.

Gervaise Tallyvere, an ugly, irascible old fellow with a scar running down the right side of his face and close-cropped, wiry grey hair, had come to Highever then. Tallyvere had brought Beauvisage with him as a training mount, and when Corin had complained to him about the red roan's less than attractive appearance when compared to Tallyvere's own handsome, seal brown Aiglet, the old man had shrugged and spat.

"'Eee is as prettee as 'e needs to be. And an old 'orse is best for a young man."

Tallyvere had proven to be a thorough and demanding task master in the art of horsemanship, improving Corin's already formidable riding skills enormously, and working with his arms instructor on teaching him the basics of mounted combat. But Corin's parents weren't particularly happy when, after a year of intensive training and tilting at rings and the quintain, Corin finally graduated to actually tilting against his master, an honor which resulted in him being knocked off his horse ass over end with blunted lances for weeks. He finally got so fed up with falling and the huge bruises all over his body (and the one broken arm), that he began to properly use what Ser Gervais had been teaching him. Tallyvere was pleased with his recent progress, pleased enough that he'd been discussing with Corin's parents the possibility of Corin riding in one of the minor Orlesian tournaments when he turned eighteen. Bryce Cousland was actually considering it, because he was planning a trip to Orlais himself in the near future to negotiate trade agreements on behalf of King Cailan.

"I wouldn't have believed it, pup," he'd said to his son with a wry smile, "but you learning to tilt might actually be helpful. Win or lose, it shows we're willing to meet them on their own ground."

"Good to know my bruises were earned in the service of Ferelden!" Corin had quipped, winning a laugh from his father and a ruffle of the hair.

Right now, Tallyvere was back in Orlais, visiting family and looking for a younger competition horse for Corin-as well as taking his most recent measurements to an Orlesian armorer who specialized in jousting armor. Which was a breathtakingly expensive proposition even for a teyrn, and even though Tallyvere was that rare Orlesian who preferred function over flash.

"Consider this your next _five_ birthday presents," Bryce had growled at his son upon hearing the cost. "And given that you're still growing, Maker grant that that armor can be let out!" Corin had winced, agreed and thanked him very sweetly.

Now Fergus asked Corin, "Are you sure you should be tilting with Dairren without Ser Gervais along?" giving him a properly responsible, older brother look of concern.

"It's not _tilting_, Fergus," came the exasperated reply. "It's just showing Dairren the equipment and how it feels. The worst we'll do is set up some rings or something, all right? Give me a little credit!"

"Bann Loren is not going to thank you if you give Dairren the tilting bug. They can't afford it." At Corin's disgruntled look, he capitulated. "All right then! It _is_ the polite thing to do, if Dairren asked. But hurry up!"

* * *

><p>The tournament was the first one of the year since winter had loosened its grip, and for that reason was better attended than it might otherwise have been, given Loren's modest estate and the small prizes. There was a veritable forest of pavilions around Loren's manor, and as the Highever contingent arrived, they were astonished to see Ferelden's royal arms floating from the tallest tower.<p>

"Cailan was getting castle fever, I see," Fergus remarked to his father. "I wonder if Anora is here."

"Doubtful," Bryce Cousland said. "She was never much of a one for mud and blood, and there's going to be plenty of mud at least. She's probably back at Denerim, minding the store."

"Oraina thought we were all mad too. Though I can't blame her for not wanting to try to keep track of Oren in this mess." There was an incredible bustle among the tents, of servitors and lords, mabari and hunting hounds, opportunistic vendors and tinkers.

"Will the king fight?" Corin inquired curiously. The last time he'd been at court he'd been ten, and more concerned with swiping sweetmeats from the buffet than meeting royalty. Maric had been king then and Corin had never met Cailan.

Fergus shook his head. "By law he's not allowed to fight in tournament, not until he gets an heir or two. But he'll be watching, to be sure. Give him a good show in the esquire fights and maybe he'll knight you next year."

"Works for me," Corin said, feeling very pleased with how things were turning out. He knew he was one of Highever's better esquire fighters.

"This is what we get for arriving late," Bryce Cousland said, surveying the field morosely. "This place is going to be a mire by tomorrow. Let's see if we can find some higher ground away from the center to set things up."

* * *

><p>Dinner that evening was a very bright and cheerful affair. Cailan sat in the middle of high table, his golden hair gleaming in the candlelight, his white smile flashing almost continuously. He seemed to be in high spirits, probably at least in part because Teyrn Loghain was not with him. Bryce and Eleanor Cousland sat at his right hand, while as host and hostess Bann Loren and Lady Landra sat at his left. The table was rounded out by Fergus and Corin on the right side and a couple of Orlesian gentlemen on the left. The one closest to the King looked to be a couple of years older than Corin, with curling blond hair and a goatee, clad in the most extreme flower of Orlesian fashion, an eye-bruising confection of purple and green and gold. The other looked to be in his early thirties and was clad more soberly, in a suit of subdued maroon and silver that actually went well with his olive complexion and dark hair.<p>

"Who are the Orlesians?" Corin asked his brother in a low voice, bending his head close to Fergus's.

"The peacock is Egile Deslarnes, the son of the Marquis Deslarnes, the Orlesian ambassador. The other one is Antoine De Mornay, the ambassador's equerry. Or in this case, Deslarne's nanny. Deslarnes is a prick."

"Good to know. Will he be in the esquire fights?"

"No. He's old enough to fight with the big boys."

"Damn. Hoping _you'll_ draw him?"

"It would brighten my week considerably," Fergus admitted. The two Cousland brothers exchanged identically evil smiles.

* * *

><p>Given his mother's friendship with Lady Landra and his own acquaintance with Dairren, Corin had spent a fair bit of time at the Loren mansion. So when he found the downstairs garderobe had a line waiting, he nipped upstairs to quickly use the other one. That one was indeed unoccupied and once he was finished, he went down the hall to access the servant's staircase and cut back through the kitchen. The sound of muted music and laughter could be heard from below-as well as the closer, muffled sounds of a struggle and a woman's despairing voice. Those appeared to be coming from one of the guest bedrooms. Corin paused to listen.<p>

"Please, my lord, don't! I don't want to!"

"Uppity knife-ear slut! Be silent!" a distinctly Orlesian voice said. "I am doing you an honor! You should be pleased a Deslarnes deigns to favor you!"

_A prick indeed,_ Corin thought in disgust, _and nothing much else to distinguish him_. He knew the woman's voice. Iona, Lady Landra's lady-in-waiting. A lovely, sweet, young elven woman all too aware of the great privilege she'd been granted in having that position. For a brief moment Corin thought about going downstairs and finding Bann Loren or his father to intervene, but it sounded as if things were progressing very swiftly and Iona might suffer real harm before he could get back. He also took a moment to weigh the fact that he was probably about to start an international incident, but there was no way he could walk away. So he went to the door the noise was coming from and threw it open, letting it bang loudly against the wall.

There was one lamp lit in the room. Iona had probably been preparing it for the guests when Deslarnes had come upon her. She was on her back on the bed, her skirts shoved up around her waist, Deslarnes standing between her legs, one hand holding her flat while the other tore at her clothes. Corin could see a flash of white thigh.

The young Orlesian jumped at the banging of the door, and turned his body halfway around to see who had intruded. Corin leaned negligently against the doorway, arms crossed, his drawn dagger in his right hand.

"Perhaps your knowledge of our language is imperfect, my lord," he said mildly in fluent Orlesian. "The lady said no. Step away, if you don't want to lose that prick of yours."

"Cousland of Highever, is it not? What concern is this of yours?" Deslarnes scoffed. "She is but a knife-ear serving woman. Go away now and I will forget this insult."

"Sorry. Can't do that," Corin said, still in Orlesian. "I know that _you're_ a little young to remember, but we Fereldens fought a war and kicked your Orlesian asses to teach you to leave our women alone." Corin's heart was thudding; he'd never had to confront anyone in quite this way before. The esquire tournaments he'd fought in felt quite different. This was for real. But the current of rage running through him was an oddly cool one and his voice was cool as well. "My own father killed any number of Orlesian rapists in his time. I'm sure I could manage just one."

His amorous mood totally transformed to a murderous one, Deslarnes spun around to confront the impertinent young man. The beautiful elf took the opportunity to writhe across the bed and roll off it to the other side. He went to draw his dagger, then some inner sense of danger gave him pause. Cousland's father had quite a reputation as a warrior, as did his older brother. Despite being two years his junior, Cousland the Younger looked absolutely confident in his ability to carve Egile up into tiny pieces, his eyes the blazing blue of shadows on sunlit snow.

"You repay your hosts poorly for hospitality given," Cousland's chilly voice said. "Go back downstairs now; leave the serving women alone for the rest of your visit and this will be forgotten."

"Bah! What do you think they call them 'serving women' for?" Deslarnes sneered. Cousland simply stared at him with that unnerving blue gaze. He capitulated. "Very well, you Fereldan buffoon! But do not think I will forget this insult!"

"Oh, I don't expect you will. I certainly won't," Cousland said, standing and inclining his head mockingly before moving aside so Deslarnes could exit.

* * *

><p>Hands shaking, Iona adjusted her clothing. The possibility of rape was something any female elf lived with on a daily basis and the more attractive that elf, the greater the danger. In the Alienage it was omnipresent. She had let herself forget in the relative safety of Bann Loren's household.<p>

"Did he hurt you, Iona?" young Lord Cousland asked. She had truly thought herself beyond help when the Orlesian lord had cornered her. As the son of an ambassador, she had doubted that anyone would interrupt him even had they known about it. And then Lord Corin's voice had sounded from the doorway, so cold and dangerous. She didn't understand Orlesian, but it was plain from his tone that he'd been calling Lord Egile down, had actually been _threatening_ him on her behalf!

"I…I am well enough, my lord," she managed to stammer. "Some bruises, but otherwise all right."

"Hardly _all right,_" he disagreed gently, his blue eyes soft with concern when they'd been arctic but a few moments ago. He'd shot up in the months since she'd last seen him, but he didn't have the lanky, unfinished look of most young men his age. He seemed to be developing all of a piece and he was a very handsome young man. While sex was the last thing on Iona's mind at present, it did cross her mind that it might be very pleasant to express her gratitude to Lord Cousland in a more tangible way in the future, when he was a little older. He was always so mannerly when he visited with Lord Dairren, remembering to address her by name.

"I'm going to take you downstairs to the kitchen, so you can wait where there are other people. You'll stay there while I find Lady Landra and tell her what happened to you. We need to make sure you're not left alone so long as that Orlesian ass is here."

"I don't wish to be a bother! Surely it's not necessary to tell Lady Landra!"

"I think that it is." He indicated that she should precede him, just as if she were a lady, and they went down the back stairs together into the warmth and bustle of the kitchen. There the light and the large number of people were suddenly overwhelming to the elven woman. Iona put her face in her hands and began to tremble. She felt the young lord's hand take her elbow and lead her over to a chair near the hearth.

"Mistress Maura!" he called Bann Loren's elderly, comfortably plump cook over.

"Young Master Corin! You can't tell me you're _already_ hungry after that dinner I just put out on the boards! Maker keep me, I didn't expect the _King_ to show up out of nowhere!"

"No, Mistress, it was lovely. I heard the King say so, more than once. But there's something else going on." Iona couldn't hear what else Corin was telling the cook, he'd lowered his voice, but after he left the kitchen Maura came over to where she was sitting.

"Oh, you poor dear! What a time you've had! A warm mug was thrust into her hands. "Here. I was just going to send these possets out. One of them should help put you to rights. Such a polite young man, Master Corin. Though I declare he gets taller by the _day_, Lady bless him! I'm certainly glad _I _don't have to keep him in clothes and shoes!"

* * *

><p>After a hurried conference with Bann Loren, Lady Landra and Corin's parents, it was decided that Iona would be waiting upon Teyrna Eleanor for the remainder of her visit. The Cousland pavilion was always under guard, there were plenty of men about to escort Iona should she need to leave the area for any reason, and in the encampment she would hopefully be out of sight and mind. Iona was sent to her rooms with a guard escort to collect her things and Eleanor turned to her youngest son. Reaching <em>up<em> to stroke his cheek, no longer a boy's downy one, she put her hand behind his neck and pulled his head down, to kiss him on the brow.

"I am very proud of what you just did, Corin," she said, smiling.

"We both are," his father added.

"Diplomacy only goes so far," Bann Loren added, a frown creasing his face. "What rudeness, to molest a man's people under his own roof!"

"Perhaps they do horrible things like that all the time in Orlais," Lady Landra speculated. "If so, then I am glad that it's you and Bryce who are going to negotiate with them, Eleanor and not Loren and me!"

"Oh, they're not all terrible people," Bryce Cousland noted. "They've their good and bad, like anyone else. I know the Marquis. I doubt he'll be very happy with his son if word of this gets back to him. Egile doesn't seem to appreciate that he's making his father's job harder."

"I don't think he cares much about anything but pursuing his own pleasure," Corin noted. His father covered a yawn with his hand.

"For me, the only thing _I _intend to pursue is my bed. We had a long ride today. So, my lord, my lady, I give you my leave." He gave his wife his arm. "Come, pup. We'll collect Iona and wish Cailan a good night."


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning Corin went forth to fight in the esquire tournament. There were over fifty young fighters there, more in fact than for the main tournament. The fighting started early and went long, a cold, muddy slog during a cloudy day with intermittent, spitting drizzle. Vendors of hot food and drink did a brisk business, particularly the chestnut vendors.

Corin was pleased with how he did. In the latter stages of the tournament, the bouts were usually won by the men who were older, on the verge of knighthood, but he managed to squeeze into the top four before being eliminated and only received one bad head shot and a broken pinky finger on his sword hand. The King had come down with Corin's father to watch the final eight bouts, so he knew that he'd been seen. The fact that he'd knocked one of Deslarne's esquires out of the running in the process hadn't hurt matters either. The Orlesian did not come down to watch the esquires' fight-he was up in the manor flirting with the young ladies in relative warmth and comfort.

Corin retired back to the Highever encampment sore, soaked, cold and aching but very satisfied. Fergus had watched from the very beginning and his mother had come down when Fergus had told her that he was in the semifinals. Both of them congratulated him on his showing, and left him to the well-deserved hot bath that awaited him. A potion soon put his finger and headache and bruises to rights, but he was so tired from the tournament that he ate some dinner in the camp and went to bed soon afterwards.

* * *

><p>"Your youngest has a good arm on him, Bryce," Cailan had said with approval after the two men had watched Corin lose his final fight. "And Maker, but he's getting some size on him! Almost as tall as Fergus now, isn't he? I actually thought he <em>was<em> Fergus there for a moment, what with the closed helm and all, until I remembered that this was the esquire tournament."

"Yes. He's going to outstrip me for certain," Bryce Cousland said with a rueful smile. "Eleanor has some tall people in her family and so do I. Apparently Corin gets it from both sides."

"He's fast for a big man too. I noticed that right away. And courteous as well. When his opponent slipped in the last fight, he backed right off and let him get up. A lot wouldn't have, particularly in the finals. How old is he now?"

"Seventeen, Sire."

Cailan stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Got any plans for him yet? I'm assuming you want him to make an alliance marriage since he's second son. Lady Habren's going to be available in a year or two and she's got a _huge_ portion."

"If you'll pardon my saying so, Sire, there's a _reason _Bryland is putting up such a large dowry for Habren. Young as she is, I've already heard rumors."

"But still, Bryce, it's South Reach. He'd be bann. That's pretty good."

"The blood's too close. They're cousins, remember? On Eleanor's side."

"Oh, that's right. Damn. So much for my idea of getting Habren married off and pregnant as soon as possible. And away from court. Bryland has petitioned Anora to take her as lady-in-waiting in a year and Anora doesn't want any part of it. She's trying to work out a way to diplomatically refuse."

"Much as I wish I could serve the Crown in this vital matter, Sire…"

"I know, I know!" The young king laughed. "What about Alfstanna then?"

"Alfstanna is a possibility. Though were I you, Sire, I'd leave that up to Alfstanna!"

"Maker, yes! That woman scares me. She might like your lad, though. I've noticed she's got an eye for a well-turned-"

"Sire."

"Sorry. Anyway, where were we? When does he turn eighteen?"

"This fall."

"Bring him to court then, and I'll knight him. See if we can find something for him to do, show him around a bit. Talk him up. I'd heard that he has a mabari?"

"Yes, he bonded to Pooka when he was twelve."

Cailan smacked his head. "That's right! I remember Howe complaining that Thomas hadn't bonded with anything in that litter and that your boy had. That's good. A mabari bond is always a selling point with us Fereldans." He looked over to where Corin, helm off, was watching the final combat round intently. "He looks clever, Bryce. Is he one of those clever sorts?"

Cousland smiled. "Very. Corin actually likes to read, and he's a killer chess player. Beats me half the time."

"Excellent! Maybe he can play chess with Anora. Maker knows she's tired of trying to teach _me_ anything about the game. Anora might even like him. She doesn't like many, but the ones she does are usually the clever sorts, and it wouldn't hurt to have _her_ putting in a good word for him as well." Cailan winked. "With the ladies, as it were."

"I'm sure he'd appreciate that, Sire."

Applause rose from around the ring. "Ah, there we go. A winner at last. Let's go congratulate the fellow, Bryce, then get in out of this blasted cold and muck."

* * *

><p>Deslarnes managed to keep out of any obvious trouble that evening. He had brought his mistress with him to the tournament, a dark-haired young beauty with a petulant, pouting smile named Sophie Lorilard, and she might have sufficed to keep him busy. Or perhaps De Mornay had gotten wind of his antics and reined him in. Fergus had kept an intermittent eye on him all evening, as had Bryce, but nothing untoward occurred.<p>

The next morning the weather had thankfully improved for the main tournament. The night had been very windy, but that wind had served to blow the clouds away, and then had considerately departed. The day was not what one would call warm, but it was still and sunny, and most acceptable to the winter-weary Fereldens. The tournament stands were filled with spectators dressed in their brightest and best and the occasional breeze lifted the bright pennons that flew above them.

Fergus was disappointed to find that he didn't draw Deslarnes in the low brackets. The Orlesian would have to make it to the quarterfinals before he had a chance to face him again, and as it turned out, he did not. Deslarnes was eliminated in the third round by a Redcliffe knight, stomping off the field with his armor muddied and his temper foul. Fergus smiled to see it, then went back to getting ready for his next opponent. His whole family was in the stands with the King, cheering him on, he was fighting well and he thought that if he got the least bit lucky, it might turn out to be a Highever day.

* * *

><p>After shedding his filthy armor and cleaning up and dressing again, Egile sulked his way back up into the nobles' box, Sophie on his arm. He would have much preferred to retire to his barely adequate but warm guest bedroom and amuse himself with his very inventive mistress for the rest of the day. But said mistress actually wanted to watch the rest of the fight and he would never hear the end of it from De Mornay or his father if he shirked what they felt was his diplomatic duty.<p>

_What a cess-pit this country is, _he fumed to himself. _It's not like I __**wanted **__to be here! Nothing but mud, mud, mud and smelly dogs everywhere! _Cousland actually had his over there beneath his feet right now and he was hardly the only one. _ I could be at Lydes or Val Royeaux, at a __**proper**__ tournament with __**proper**__ amenities, instead of this muddy hole filled with surly, jumped up dog lords who probably take their bitches to bed at night because their women are so ugly! _The only attractive woman in the whole place had been that knife-eared slut that Cousland had warned him off and Egile hadn't seen her since. It was as if these barbarians felt that she deserved to be _protected_ from him! Insufferable! And Cousland was the most insufferable of the lot, managing to come in fourth out of fifty in his tournament while Egile had been turfed out from his early due to bad battle luck.

To make matters worse, now Sophie was watching the _older _brother as he drove his current opponent into the dirt; with the tip of her tongue sticking out of her mouth in that way she had when she was thinking dirty thoughts. Egile pinched her arm, hard. "Stop staring at him! I know what you're thinking!" Sophie wrenched her arm away and shot him a glare. Egile slumped back in his seat, thoroughly disgusted, ignoring De Mornay's look of reproof.

He could just overhear Cousland, chatting pleasantly with that pallid lump of a bann's son.

"Sure. I brought him here so you could. And he needs to get some exercise-I didn't have time to ride him yesterday because I was fighting. We'll go do it after the tournament. Maybe up the hill there, where the footing hasn't been churned to goo? I'll put Beau's stuff on so you can see what riding in the saddle feels like and you can wear the tilt helm and the chest piece. We'll take a lance and set a ring up and you can give it a go."

_Heh? Cousland has a horse? A __**tilting**__ horse?_ Egile had certainly seen no other mounts suitable for a joust here in this backwards corner of horse-sparse Ferelden. Dairren's enthusiastic response went unheard, for suddenly, a glorious plan occurred to Egile, an absolutely wonderful, glorious plan that not only would insure Cousland's utter humiliation (and possibly even severe injury or death), but would also be a slap in the face to all these impertinent, backwater louts! He would show them, oh yes he would!

"I am sorry, _ma petite," _he said to Sophie, kissing her on her temple. "It is simply that you make me so jealous sometimes. Would you excuse me for a bit?" As she began to pout, he leaned close to her ear and whispered. "I promise, you will like this. I am going to show all these bitch-born Fereldans exactly how much I care for you." Mollified, she gave him a smile. He looked over at De Mornay and said aloud, "Excuse me, Antoine, I made the mistake of buying something from one of those vendors, I was so hungry after the fight. And now I fear it's disagreeing with me. Would you make my excuses to the others, should they ask?" De Mornay inclined his head, though there was a skeptical glint in his dark eyes.

Egile left the stands and it was all he could do to keep from chuckling to himself as he went.

* * *

><p>In the end, it did turn out to be a Highever day. Fergus won the final bout, to the cheering approval of the crowd, for he was a popular man in this area of Ferelden. He had just accepted the beautifully engraved dagger that was the tournament prize from Cailan, and the bolt of silk that was his lady's prize from Lady Landra, when murmurs arose from the crowd behind him and he saw the King cock an eyebrow.<p>

"Whatever in the world….?" Cailan murmured.

Fergus turned to see Egile Deslarnes riding onto the list field in an ornately chased set of full jousting plate, on one of the most beautiful horses he'd ever seen, a chestnut stallion with a long flowing mane and tail the hue of gold coins. He made the horse side pass down the narrow space between the lists and the stands, then made it curvet and prance back in an obvious display of horsemanship, until he was seated directly facing the King.

"Your Majesty, _mesdames, messires_! Bann Loren and Lady Landra! I wish to thank you for the wonderful time I have had here at your tournament! Such hospitality! And the quality of the combat! _Superbe!_ He inclined his head graciously in Fergus's direction. "Lord Cousland, my congratulations on your well-deserved victory!" He gestured to a servant in his livery, who was coming forward with a casket in his hands.

"In fact, I have had such a _very_ good time that I wondered what I could do to add to the pleasure of this event! And it came to me that you war-like Fereldens might enjoy one more contest of martial skill. Lady Landra, would you be kind enough to open the casket and take out what is within?"

Landra opened the small chest, her brow furrowed in curiosity. Then she gasped, reached in and withdrew a necklace of sapphires set in silverite.

"Would you be so kind as to show it to the crowd?" Deslarnes asked. Landra held the necklace up between her two hands and turned both ways so that it might be displayed to all. The sun flashed bluely off the sapphires and there were exclamations of awe and appreciation.

"_Merde!_" Sophie spat under her breath. "He was supposed to give that necklace to me!"

"I propose a small contest," the young Orlesian announced in a voice that purely dripped goodwill and camaraderie. "This necklace to any Ferelden who can make it through a _pas _with me." He smiled ingratiatingly. "I apologize if this information is already known; I do not mean to offend with an explanation. A _pas_ is three passes down the list with the lance. I know that the foot troops of Ferelden are legendary, but that you do not have a history of mounted cavalry. In light of that, all I ask is that my opponent remain mounted on his horse for the three passes. He needn't strike me at all. If he'd like to simply carry a shield and no lance, that is also acceptable."

A silence fell. Deslarnes spent a couple of minutes looking around at the crowd, particularly at the knights, a pleasantly hopeful expression on his face. As the silence lengthened, Bryce Cousland saw his son stir restlessly in his seat.

"Don't you _dare, _Corin!" he muttered, turning his head to look the boy in the eye.

Eventually, Cailan smiled regretfully at the young Orlesian.

"An interesting idea, Lord Deslarnes! I'm sorry we've not got anything that might make a contest for you. I don't know that any of our hunters would abide your _pas_ and I'm afraid that that delightful stallion that your Empress gave me as a wedding present isn't here. He's currently outside of Denerim, doing his best to sire many more lovely horses."

Deslarnes bowed in his saddle. "I believe young Lord Cousland has a jousting horse here, Your Majesty. Perhaps he could be persuaded to lend it to the cause."

"That does it!" Corin muttered. "Sorry, Father, but this has been about me and that business with Iona all along." He got to his feet and said aloud with the firm authority of a much older man, "I'll ride against you, Deslarnes. I need an hour to get my horse ready. Where are we going to do this?"

The Orlesian gestured about him. "Why not right here? My men have a temporary rail they can put up. Not as good as a true list, but it should serve. And everyone will have a _good_ view."

"Very well, then. In an hour's time."

"In an hour's time. A hand, everyone, for young Lord Cousland!" The crowd applauded. Deslarnes made his stallion bow to the King as he bowed, to the oohs and ahs of the crowd, particularly the ladies, then spurred it off to where his baggage train stood.

"If you will excuse me, Your Majesty," De Mornay said, with a bow. At the king's answering bow, he inclined his head in proper order to the Teyrn and Teyrna, the Bann and his lady, and left the stands.

"Corin, you just directly disobeyed me!" Bryce Cousland's face was stern. His younger son gave him a regretful look.

"I am sorry, Father, but he had to be answered, and I am the only one who can do it."

"Nonsense. Any number of people could have borrowed one of Loren's hunters and a lance."

"I didn't exactly see them lining up to volunteer, Bryce," the bann noted. "But I am sorry for the trouble we seem to have brought upon your house. It was unintentional, I assure you."

"What if he's some sort of Orlesian jousting champion?" Fergus inquired, his eyebrow cocked. Corin shrugged.

"Then I'd be meeting him next spring. It's pretty much the same thing."

"Next spring you'd have proper armor and a better horse," Bryce pointed out.

"Father, my armor is perfectly good. It's not pretty like Deslarne's but I've been riding full contact against _Ser Gervais_ for months now. He wouldn't let me joust in unsafe armor. As for Beau-truthfully, I'd rather be riding him first time out. He still knows more about this than I do. He'll take care of me."

"Just how dangerous is this, Corin?" his mother asked. Her son shrugged.

"How dangerous is it going to be when you send me out with Fergus to deal with smugglers and bandits when I'm eighteen? How dangerous are foot tournaments? You let me fight in them all the time, and people do _die_ in foot tournaments. You all are afraid of this because it's a sort of fighting you're not used to and you don't understand it. Honestly, I think this is more about Deslarnes humiliating me than hurting me. And I'm all right with that. We've already won, the challenge was answered. If Deslarnes needs to knock me into the mud to make himself feel better, then I can handle that."

"The true sign of nobility is the willingness to be humiliated for your country," Cailan said with a smile. "And I salute you for it, young Cousland."

Corin bowed. "Thank you, Sire. If you will all excuse me, I've got a horse to prepare." He departed.

"What exactly did your son do, Bryce, that Deslarnes is so eager to embarrass him?" the young King asked after Corin had gone. "They weren't in the same tournament division."

Bann Loren answered. "Deslarnes was attempting to force my wife's elven lady-in-waiting, Sire. Young Cousland stopped him."

"Really!" Cailan grinned. "That's rather horribly romantic. Like something out of a story, this is all shaping up to be. Have I mentioned how much I'm coming to like this son of yours, Bryce?"


	3. Chapter 3

Antoine De Mornay was furious, both at his young charge and at himself. How had he missed Egile's antipathy towards the younger Cousland? What was the cause? Something had obviously happened that he had no knowledge of and he prided himself on being a man who missed very little, a necessary quality in anyone who played the Great Game of Orlais.

"What in the Maker's name do you think you are doing?" he demanded of Egile in their native tongue when he found the young man lecturing his servants about how he wanted the rail set up. Egile, who had dismounted, shrugged. "I should think it would be obvious."

"You did everything but call that boy out! I want to know why. You _do _realize that young man is the son of the second most important man in the kingdom after the King himself, don't you? If you injure or kill him, it will reflect badly on your father and in turn, upon Orlais. Your father has two other sons, Egile-he doesn't need you that much. And Celene will care even less about your fate if you embarrass her."

His young charge gave him a petulant look. "The boy is a Fereldan pig, rooting in the mud! I had found a perfectly delectable diversion, a pretty young knife-ear, and he interrupted us. Threatened to cut my…manhood off! Was I supposed to let that pass?"

"You were _supposed_ to keep your hands off the Fereldan women altogether!" DeMornay exclaimed in exasperation. "You _agreed_ to do so! That is why your father let you bring the Lorilard girl along! They don't like us dallying with their women. It's not been that long since they couldn't say no!"

"And I should care about that?"

"You'd _better_ care about that! You need to find a way to be useful to your family and quickly, Egile! Raimonde is the heir, and Philimon is distinguishing himself in the military. If you can't do likewise in the arena of diplomacy, he may decide that giving you to the Chantry is the best option. And given that it's your prick that got you in this mess, that is beginning to sound like a very good idea to me!"

"I do not see how reminding these Fereldan farm animals about what Orlesian chevaliers can do any harm," Egile said loftily. "You are going to report to my father, as you always do, Antoine. I will do so as well, and we will see whom he believes had the right of it."

"Pah!" De Mornay spat. "A fully trained jouster riding against a Fereldan novice is not exactly an impressive demonstration of superiority!" He threw up his hands in exasperation. "Very well then! If you are set upon this, I am going to go see how green the lad is, and offer him some of your spare equipment, should he have need. That may make you look like less of a total bastard."

"If you must, Antoine," the young lord said, dismissing him with an airy wave of the hand. "These scruples of yours, I must say that they are extremely tiresome."

* * *

><p>De Mornay made his way over to the Cousland encampment, where he was immediately stopped by a man in the Highever livery. "I need to speak to Corin Cousland," he said. "It is in regards to his…competition with Lord Deslarnes."<p>

"Very well then, sir, but I must accompany you," the soldier said. De Mornay nodded. "Of course."

He looked about him as they walked, noticing the neat order of the encampment. There were a couple of mabari lolling in the sun on grassy spots, regarding him disdainfully, and he caught a quick glimpse of a slender, blond woman who ducked back into the family pavilion when she saw him. The disputed elven woman? The soldier led him to the back of the tents, where he found a picket line containing the wagon horses and a separate tether for Cousland's jousting horse. Cousland was currying his horse himself, speaking to a young man in livery as he did so.

"Yes, I've already picked the lances out, Damon. It's the three over there on the right. We'll take them down when I go down. I don't want them sitting around down there unattended. I don't trust that Orlesian jackanapes."

"Yes, my lord." Damon left, presumably to collect equipment.

Cousland's mabari, who'd been reclining nose on paws close to the horse's front legs, got up when he saw De Mornay and advanced to stand between him and his master, not growling or threatening, but nonetheless blocking his path. Cousland, seeing him get up, turned around.

"Pook? Oh, Lord De Mornay. What can I do for you?" He looked at the soldier. "Thanks, Roger, I've got it." The soldier bowed and returned to his post.

De Mornay bowed. "It is more a question of what I can do for you, Lord Cousland. I wished to make sure that you were adequately equipped for the competition, and to answer any questions you might have. I am not unaware that my lord…put you on the spot, as you Fereldans say."

Cousland turned back to his horse. "That's very kind of you, but I am well enough equipped. My armor is perfectly functional, if not particularly pretty, and by chance, I brought more than enough lances with me."

Though De Mornay hated making the offer, given that he knew nothing of Cousland's riding ability, honor demanded that he do so. "If you should have need of a better horse, I offer you the use of mine for the competition." That got Cousland's attention. He turned his intense blue eyes on De Mornay.

"Not _that _is a very princely offer, my lord! I've seen your bay. He is lovely." He stroked a hand along his roan's neck. "But Beau will serve me well enough-we've been jousting together for two years now. We're used to each other."

A faint glimmering of hope began to blossom in Antoine De Mornay's breast. _Perhaps Cousland is not a total novice after all._ He took a good look at the young lord's mount. Though aged and scarred, his legs were clean and he was well-conformed. Obviously a horse with some breeding, which was borne out by the crown–over-antlers brand of the Montsimmard Stud on the red roan flank. "Your horse-he is Orlesian."

"Yes. My tilting master brought him when he came from Orlais. He's back there now, buying me a competition horse."

_**Competition**__ horse? Better still! _"Might I ask who your tilting master is?" That won him another, much cooler blue stare.

"And why would I want to tell you that? So you can run right back to Deslarnes and tell him? Give him some idea about my style, my weaknesses? I think I'm suffering under enough handicaps here."

"You misunderstand me, my lord. I do not approve of what Egile has done in the least, nor would his father. I understand there was a woman involved?"

"You could say that. He was raping Lady Landra's lady-in-waiting. I stopped him."

"I hope you will pardon me for asking this, but are you sure she was being raped?"

Cousland snorted as he picked up his saddle blanket and smoothed it over his horse's back. "I'm not a virgin, my lord. I've been sleeping with women since I was fourteen. When a woman is crying 'No, my lord, I don't want to!', and the man is holding her forcibly down on the bed and tearing her clothes off, I sort of assume she's being raped."

_Maker!_ Antoine thought in disgust. _It is worse than I thought._ "You did not tell the King?"

"What good would that have done? The lady in question is an elf, and your lord has status. She's some place safe now and we've been keeping an eye on your lord ever since. He can't go back to Denerim fast enough to suit the folks here and I can guarantee you that if he goes back by way of Highever and tries any of that stuff in _my_ city, I will _geld_ the bastard, no matter _who_ his father is!" The fire in Cousland's eyes gave him an imposing presence much greater than his young years alone would have granted.

"I cannot say that I would blame you, my lord," De Mornay sighed. Cousland lifted his saddle and placed it on his horse's back, then began carefully drawing the girths up.

"If that's all, Lord De Mornay, then I've got rather a lot to do still," the young man said pointedly. Antoine contrasted this Fereldan, who was caring for and tacking up his animal himself with Egile, who never touched his horses outside of the tilt ring, and came to a swift decision.

"Egile drops his shield right before the strike," he said softly. "I've tried and tried to get him to stop, but he won't. Watch for it and aim a little high. You'll go above the shield and strike a body blow. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

Cousland smiled grimly. "I do, my lord. Thank you. My tilt master is Ser Gervais Talleyvere."

Antoine stared at him, frozen with shock, a great wave of delight beginning to bubble up in him. "_No_! Truly? He was _my_ tilt master as well!"

"_Really_?"

"Yes. After he had his dispute with Celene, I wondered where he had gone. But I never imagined it would be Ferelden!" Cousland frowned in concern.

"He won't get into trouble going back to Orlais, will he? What kind of dispute was this?"

"Oh, not deadly danger. Nothing like that. For the most part, Celene didn't have a lot of use for the people who had served her father. She put new officials in most of the positions when she ascended the throne. Gervais lasted longer than most as Royal Stud Master because he's forgotten more about horses than most people know. But Celene got some idea about Antivan bloodlines that some fellow convinced her was the big new thing and Gervaise refused to go along with it. Not only refused, but made the mistake of letting her know exactly what he thought about the idea. So she exiled him from court-then promptly regretted it when her new man made a hash of the breeding program. If Gervaise went back to Orlais and she hears of it, I wouldn't be surprised if he's invited to return to court."

"I hope he gets to, for his sake. He said he missed his other horses," the young man said softly. "It sounds like I was really lucky to have the chance to learn from him."

"You don't know how lucky. He doesn't teach just anybody."

"I know that he told my father he wouldn't agree to teach me until he saw me ride first."

"You must be quite the rider."

"As must you, my lord." The Orlesian and the Fereldan gave each other looks of mutual respect.

"And I must thank you for this opportunity, Lord Cousland, though I suppose that it is a not good thing to indulge one's vices." Cousland gave him a puzzled look and Antoine laughed.

"I'm a gambling man. Deplorable, really."

Corin Cousland was whip-quick; Antoine had to give him that. He grinned.

"And here you are, the _only_ person who knows that I'm not a total, backward farm boy on a horse." He dug into his purse and brought out three sovereigns. "Would you put a little money on me for me?"

"It would be my honor."

* * *

><p>Fergus had gotten out of his armor back at the camp and changed into one of his court suits. He'd seen the Orlesian leaving the camp as he came out of his tent and went to find his young brother, who was totally kitted out in his tilting armor, except for gauntlets and helm, doing a last check of the straps on his horse's barding.<p>

"What did De Mornay want?" he asked suspiciously. Corin looked at him and smiled.

"Actually, he was being polite. He knows Deslarnes was trying to take advantage of a novice, so he came to offer me equipment if I needed it, and even the use of his horse. That is very much something chevaliers don't like to do, let me tell you. He's a good sort." He turned back to the buckles. "I found out something interesting. Ser Gervais taught De Mornay to tilt as well, and apparently Ser Gervais is very well connected in Orlais."

"Father said that he came well recommended."

"He was the Royal Stud Master, Fergus. In charge of all the Emperor's horses."

"Oh. Can I take this to mean you're not quite so helpless here as Mother and Father thought?"

Corin shrugged and inspected Beauvisage's chamfron, tugging it a little. "De Mornay didn't tell me how good Egile is, but he did point out a weakness in his jousting. And he's going to put some money on me."

"Really?"

"Yes. You might want to find an Orlesian or two and do the same." Inspection completed, he pulled his gauntlets on, tucked his helm under his arm and gave his big brother a grin. "Walk me down?"

"Sure." Fergus fell in beside Corin, and they began walking down the hill towards the tournament site. "I'm sorry, but I just don't get it, little brother," he said, shaking his head. "And believe me, I've really tried to understand. _Why_ is this something you love so much?"

"Well," Corin said in a reasonable tone, "it's sort of a thrill, you see, having this huge bundle of muscle between your legs, all warm and sweaty and throbbing and pounding-"

"Oh, _shut up_, you prat!"

* * *

><p>A goodly number of people had returned to watch the <em>pas,<em> after spending the intervening hour eating or shopping the merchants or gossiping_. _It was not the sort of entertainment customarily available in Ferelden. Most of them were rooting for their young countryman, but not so much in the expectation of him making any sort of significant showing with the lance. They were merely hoping that he'd be able to endure what Deslarnes dished out, stay on the horse and win the necklace. All of the list ropes had been removed from before the stands, and instead a light rail ran down the middle of the field, too flimsy to be any kind of barrier, more a marker delineating the course. Cailan was back in the royal box, along with the Couslands and Bann Loren's family. De Mornay was down in front of the stands, watching his lord caracole his chestnut up and down with an impassive expression.

A cheer went up as Corin Cousland rode his horse onto the list. Unlike Deslarnes' finery, his armor and horse's barding were simple steel and metal, without ornament. And the slightly big-headed roan was certainly nowhere near as attractive as the chestnut stallion. There were also no fancy moves, no prancing or dancing. He simply rode up on a loose rein and stopped beneath the stand, inclining his head respectfully to his monarch. Deslarnes made the chestnut sidestep until it stood beside Corin's horse.

"I'm here, Deslarnes," young Cousland said.

"Why so you are! Shall we begin?"

"Please."

Deslarnes smiled, obviously pleased. "De Mornay, would you explain the rules of the _pas_ to everyone please? I'm sure Lord Cousland could do with an explanation as well."

The equerry faced the stands. "My lords and ladies, in Orlais, the form of the _pas _is as follows: three passes with the lance. Each lance you break against your opponent's shield is worth one point. Each lance broken against the body is worth two and a lance broken against your opponent's helm is worth three. Unhorsing your opponent makes you the immediate victor and gives you possession of his horse and armor as well. Otherwise, the jouster with the greatest number of points wins." He threw a glance at Deslarnes. "I will call the points, but my lord has stated that instead of using the standard points scoring, he will give the necklace to Lord Cousland if Lord Cousland can avoid being unhorsed for the three passes, and obviously, the possession of Lord Cousland's horse in not in play. The drop of a flag will signal the beginning of each pass."

He turned to the young Fereldan. "Lord Cousland, are you ready to start?"

"I would like a few minutes to warm my horse up, if that is acceptable to Lord Deslarnes."

"More than acceptable," the Orlesian lord said magnanimously. "By all means." He watched with thinly veiled amusement as the Fereldan trotted and cantered his ugly horse in loose circles until he considered his mount's muscles sufficiently warm.

"I'm ready now, Lord Deslarnes," Corin said calmly, trotting back to the royal box.

"Very well then. But first, let us give this _pas _a little romance, a little spice!" He bowed to the royal box. "It is customary for a jouster to strive in the name of one whom he loves above all others, and to announce that before he goes forth to combat," he called out. "Therefore I declare before you all that I joust this day in the name of my beloved, the exquisite Sophie Lorilard!" He raised his right arm, from which a wine-red scarf fluttered.

The lady in question looked pleased and preened a bit, particularly when the crowd cheered. Deslarnes smiled with seeming kindness at his opponent. "Do you have someone special you wish to dedicate your _pas_ to, Lord Cousland?"

"Actually, I do." Cousland reined his horse around, as close to the stands as he could. "Mother?" he queried, gesturing to the silver spangled blue scarf she wore over her hair. Eleanor Cousland got out of her chair and moved to the rail of the royal box. She pulled the scarf off and leaning over, tied it around her youngest son's arm.

"You disobeyed Bryce to do this, Corin. I am not much pleased," she said severely. He bowed his head, casting his eyes down, his cheeks reddening slightly. "Just because you are almost eighteen does not mean you can do as you please, regardless of your parents' wishes."

"I know. I am sorry, Mother."

"I trust that you have no intention of disobeying me as well?"

He looked at her startled, obviously worried that she meant to order him out of the competition at the last minute. But after a moment he said softly, "No, ma'am."

"Good." Eleanor crooked her finger, gesturing to him to lean closer. When the dark head leaned in her direction, she murmured close to his ear, "I tire of this Orlesian. I want him to have a very _large_ laundry bill. Do you understand me, Corin?" Her son's widest, whitest smile blossomed on his face.

"_Yes_, ma'am!" Moving his horse back to stand beside Deslarnes, he lifted his newly adorned arm high and declared, "I fight this day for she who bore me and continues to bear with me, the wise, the radiant Teyrna Eleanor Cousland, the Jewel of Highever!"

The cheers were much louder this time and Sophie frowned, disgruntled. Deslarnes pursed his lips, displeased at being upstaged. Eleanor, on the other hand, found herself blushing. Her husband smiled at her as she returned to his side, and took her hand.

"Rather exciting, isn't it, my dear? One can almost see why the Orlesians enjoy this sort of thing."

* * *

><p>The two young men rode to where their assistants stood with their lances, and each took one up. Cousland's was plain, unpainted ash, the Orlesian's a dizzying spiral of gold, green and purple stripes. They rode their horses to the opposite ends of the list and waited for the flag to drop. Deslarnes was rowling his stallion with his long, wicked spurs as he waited, presumably to excite it into swifter acceleration, and the animal squealed in pain, slung its head and crow-hopped, bloody foam on its lips as he held it in place with a hard hand on the reins. Cousland simply waited, crouched in his saddle, his horse quiet beneath him. The flag, wielded by one of Deslarne's men, dropped.<p>

The two horses leapt forward, the chestnut more swiftly than the roan. Two lances leveled, the Fereldan's surprisingly steady. Deslarnes was past the halfway point when the two men met with a thunderous crash of splintering wood. The two horses continued to the ends of the list-and both still had their riders.

"One point to Lord Deslarnes," De Mornay announced. "And one point to Lord Cousland!" He could barely repress his smile. The two combatants wheeled their horses and made their way back to their respective sides, dropping the butts of the broken lances and taking up new ones. The Fereldens, pleased to see their champion still intact, cheered loudly.

"Hah! You boy is still in the game, Bryce! It almost looks like he knows what he's doing!" Cailan enthused.

"If he doesn't, then I've spent a very great deal of money for nothing," the Teyrn of Highever said drily.

* * *

><p>Egile Deslarnes wheeled his horse about and settled his new lance. He'd not expected Cousland to survive the first strike, much less successfully break a lance. He apparently had had some quintain work, at least.<p>

_Even a Fereldan pig can get lucky, I suppose. But his luck runs out __**now**__!_

* * *

><p>Corin dropped his broken lance and rode Beauvisage in a couple of tight circles before returning to Damon. He slapped the roan's neck gently a couple of times. "Wake up, old fellow. We're fighting for real here. <em>Guerre, <em>Beau, _guerre._" He could feel the old horse's muscles coil in response and Beauvisage danced beneath him a little as Damon handed up the second lance.

He'd decided to simply go for a shield break on the first run, despite De Mornay's advice. He'd needed to take a measure of Egile. And had found him, if not lacking, not all that impressive. Corin had been able to deflect his lance easily enough and the young Orlesian certainly didn't hit as hard as Tallyvere!

_Good practice for Lydes next spring. I suppose I should be grateful._

* * *

><p>The two jousters settled their lances and nodded to the flag man. The flag dropped. This time the roan got off the mark almost as fast as his more beautiful competitor. Once again there was a horrendous sound of shattering wood. But this time, while the Fereldan had caught the lance upon his shield once more, his own lance had gone <em>over <em>his opponent's shield and struck Deslarnes high and hard on the shoulder. The Orlesian was slammed back against the cantle of his saddle and it took him a moment to recover himself and drop his broken lance.

"One point to Lord Deslarnes," De Mornay called out, his lips curling in an evil smile. "And _two_ points to Lord Cousland." The crowd exploded.

Egile heard the score and wheeled his horse, seeing the arena through a red haze. How _dared_ this uppity Ferelden dog-lord play at the joust! The tiny, reasonable portion of his brain suggested caution, suggested that perhaps his opponent had been trained, but Egile denied the possibility. Only Orlesians had ever mastered the art of mounted warfare. No Fereldan ever could! It was this stupid _horse's_ fault, he was stepping wide at the last moment! Yes, that was it! His father had bought this new horse a couple of months ago, and it simply wasn't up to the standard of his old one. He spurred the beast hard while sawing on the reins, knowing that the long-shanked spade bit was a cruel one and was cutting the beast's mouth and tongue. The stallion squealed and grunted and Egile smiled.

"Wake up, you coward!"

* * *

><p>De Mornay frowned, deeply angered. Tallyvere, for all that he was an old man, was of the new school of horsemanship, where a rider and a horse cooperated to achieve their ends. Egile had been trained in the old school, where a horse was a mere beast to be controlled and punished into doing the right thing. Neither De Mornay nor Cousland rode with those horrible, long-shanked, spike-rowelled spurs. Neither his Bonnechance nor Cousland's Beauvisage had ever known one of those cruel bits.<p>

There was even some murmuring from the crowd at Egile's display and it was an ugly murmur. While most Fereldens knew nothing about jousting, some of them were halfway decent riders and those who had horses, hunters for the most part, tended to be as kind to them as they were to their uncanny dogs. They knew when an animal was being abused, blamed for its master's shortcomings, and they did not like it.

_What a __**fine **__impression you are giving of us, Egile, _De Mornay thought grimly. _Your father will be so__** very**__ pleased!_

* * *

><p>Corin saw what Egile was doing and was enraged as well. <em>Such a lovely creature, and he's trying his hardest. Being punished for nothing! <em>His mother's charge came back to him then, and he smiled grimly beneath the closed helm.

_Let's see how good a son I am. _Beauvisage was prancing, thoroughly enlivened by the first two runs. Corin took his last lance and tightened his legs while holding Beau gently in place, his urgency communicating itself to the old horse.

_Time to hit him __**hard**__, old fellow._

* * *

><p>The flag dropped and this time the roan was quicker off the mark than the chestnut who, rattled by the punishment he was enduring, slewed sideways in his first few strides. Cousland's horse sprang forward, straight and true, as if hurled from a catapult and it was now obvious that the Fereldan boy knew what he was doing. The crowd cried out in encouragement of their countryman.<p>

There had been a handful of times in the latter course of his training, where Corin had known he was going to strike true and square right out of the gate. Tallyvere called it "being in the slot," and the day he'd done it twice in a row was the day Tallyvere had first mentioned that he might be ready for tournament. He felt the same thing now, as Beau charged down upon Deslarnes. Everything seemed to happen in slow motion, each stride of his horse seeming to take an eternity. It was as if he had eons to raise his shield to deflect Deslarne's lance, eons more to raise his own lance so that it slid above his opponent's shield, higher than the last time. All the time in the world to actually give that lance a _thrust _with all the strength in his arm and shoulder instead of just couching it_, _to cue Beauvisage, who, canny old beast that he was, dug in and then actually leapt _upwards_ with that stride to give Corin's thrust more force.

Corin knew the thrust as good, felt it impact upon the point of Egile's helm, and then he was past, shaking the splintered ruins of his lance from off of his arm. Slowing Beau, he turned at the far end of the list to see what had become of his opponent, and smiled.

* * *

><p>The crowd saw Cousland's plain lance strike hard and square against the Orlesian's helm, saw the arrogant lordling topple arse over end over the back of his fancy saddle and land flat on his back in the mud. It exploded into a frenzy of cheers, for the tilt had turned out to be not the humiliation they'd expected, but rather the Battle of River Dane all over again, in microcosm. Ferelden's king actually leapt to his feet, thrusting a fist into the air. "Yes! YES!"<p>

"_Sire!_" his teyrn chided him. Cailan had the grace to look embarrassed. Sitting back down, he cupped his hands and called down to the prostrate lord, "Well fought, Deslarnes!" Muttering under his breath, he added, "You _fall_ very well, you bastard!"

Fergus Cousland suddenly threw back his head and began to laugh. The King looked at him.

"What's so funny, Fergus?"

"I know some Orlesians who owe me money, Sire. A _lot_ of money."

Cailan's eyes twinkled. "You do know that you're supposed to let the _Crown_ in on these little investment opportunities, don't you?"

"I'm sorry, Cailan, there wasn't time. I barely got back here in time for the tilt as it was. I will of course, pay the Crown its fair share in taxes. Immediately."

Cailan leaned back in his chair and took up a goblet of wine. "That's more like it."

* * *

><p>De Mornay looked over at his prostrate charge, and the attendants surrounding him. "Is he injured?" he called, not particularly caring what the answer was. One of Egile's esquires shook his head.<p>

"Just out cold, my lord."

"Get him up out of the mud and back to the house. Have him seen to. And someone catch Flambeau, potion him and bring him to me." He looked over to where Cousland was walking his horse out, stroking its neck. From the flicking of Beau's ear, he could tell that the old courser was most likely receiving much praise. De Mornay noted that the roan seemed very pleased with himself.

The noise of the crowd rose again as Cousland raised his visor and walked his horse over to the stands.

"My lord Cousland, the necklace is yours, of course," De Mornay announced. "Lady Landra will you do the honors?"

Landra took necklace out of the casket and started to come over to the rail, but Corin shook his head. "Just give it to my mother, please, Lady Landra. I won it for her."

Blushing once more, Eleanor Cousland took the necklace from Landra and fastened it around her neck. Then she rose and waved to the crowd, who responded with another cheer. At that point Sophie Lorilard got up abruptly and left the box, muttering dire imprecations in Orlesian that were all directed towards a certain young, golden-haired lord.

"_Mesdames, messires_," De Mornay called to the crowd. "A moment of your time, if you please." Everyone quieted.

"At the beginning of the _pas, _I explained the rules, and I specifically stated that Lord Cousland's horse was exempt from the claiming rule that such combats usually include. _Lord Egile's_ horse, however, was not. As Lord Cousland unhorsed Lord Egile, Lord Egile's armor, saddle and horse are rightfully his, by the rules of the _pas_."

A silence fell. Deslarnes' attendants, who had administered a potion to his courser and were walking it and wiping the blood and foam away, stared at De Mornay in aghast astonishment. Cousland, whose helm and gauntlets had been handed to his attendant, swiped a hand through his sweaty hair and smiled.

"Lord Deslarnes is too generous, Lord De Mornay," he declared. "To have provided us with this lovely entertainment and then to be so gracious in defeat!" He looked over to where the attendants stood with the chestnut, and then back at De Mornay.

"This wasn't really a _pas_ in the strictest sense. And Deslarnes' armor and equipment has his family crest engraved upon it. It obviously has great sentimental value to him. So I won't take it, or his tack or barding. But I will take the horse and I thank him for it."

De Mornay inclined his head. _As I thank you, _he thought, knowing that Cousland had indeed interpreted his intention correctly and gracefully. The attendants swiftly stripped Flambeau of his saddle, bridle and barding, then handed his headstall lead to Cousland. Cousland took it, bowed in his saddle to his king and De Mornay and immediately set off for his family's encampment at a walk. No flash, no fuss, just one good horseman.

One good _Fereldan_ horseman. It was going to take some getting used to.


	4. Chapter 4

"You know, Bryce, I've been thinking," Cailan said, as they all strolled back towards Loren's manor for dinner. "Fereldans don't have cavalry. And maybe it would be nice if we did have some. Perhaps your boy can learn a little more from the Orlesians and then help me with this. It would be something for him to do, don't you think?"

Bryce Cousland was surprised. The idea had never occurred to him.

"It might indeed, Sire. It might indeed."

* * *

><p>When De Mornay showed back up at the Cousland encampment he was not surprised to see Corin, still in his armor, walking Flambeau out while Damon did the same for Beauvisage. Both horses were blanketed, and from the looks of things, pretty much cooled out.<p>

"Lord Cousland, might I give you a hand? I know that you came equipped to deal with only one horse."

The young Fereldan turned towards him, surprised to see him in a plain leather jerkin.

"Thank you, Lord De Mornay. That's very kind of you."

"Very well then. Let me take your old warrior while you get acquainted with your new horse."

The horses were brought over to the picket line and the blankets swept off of them. Damon went to find another set of brushes and the two horsemen settled down to a companionable silence for a while, as brushes swished rhythmically against hides.

"I want to thank you for this, my lord," Cousland said eventually, stroking a hand down Flambeau's silken neck, under the golden mane. The stallion had calmed considerably under a gentle touch. "He is truly one of the most beautiful horses I've ever seen."

"No thanks are necessary. He is an extremely well-bred horse and now he will be well-used as well. I was glad to do it."

"Lord Egile won't be glad you did it. Are you going to get into trouble for this?"

Surprised at the young lord's concern, De Mornay smiled genuinely. "No, though I thank you for the courtesy. When I tell Lord Auguste of what happened, I think he will agree that losing Flambeau is an appropriate punishment for what Egile did." He paused to scratch the center of Beauvisage's chest and the roan mouthed in approval as he found an itchy spot.

"Flambeau is the third tourney horse Egile has had in two years. He ruined the first two treating them just as you saw him treat Flambeau today. His father was growing tired of the expense. I think Egile will be sitting the tournament circuit out this next year."

"I've been wondering if I should join it myself," Cousland said, a bit glumly. "Father was not much pleased at what my armor and the new horse are costing. We Fereldans aren't as rich as you Orlesians. I don't know that I can justify spending this sort of money, just for something that's fun for me and doesn't help my people. And what if I'm beaten and somebody takes my horse and armor? I understand that you pay ransom for it and it's not as much as if you had to buy it all over again, but it's still money. And there are the entry fees and blacksmiths and grain and all the rest of it." He brightened a little. "Though now that I have Flambeau, maybe we can get word to Ser Gervais, to stop him from buying me a horse. That would help."

"I would not, were I you," De Mornay said. "It is better if you have two. The tournament circuit is a grind. Horses last longer if they're given a chance to rest. And they do sometimes get injured. Best to have a spare." Brushing finished, he began to sweep a rag over Beauvisage in long, soothing strokes. "Has Tallyvere told you much about the tournament circuit?"

"He said that there were minor tournaments and major ones and that I should go to the minor tournaments. He mentioned Lydes."

"A good choice for a first tournament. The minor tournaments have smaller fees and smaller prizes and no confiscation rules. They're a good thing to cut your teeth on. It is not until you hit the major circuit that it gets cutthroat. I don't pretend to know the exact state of your finances, but given that your father hired Talleyvere, I would be very much surprised if you could not enter several minor tournaments without straining your purse over much. If you can manage even to place, it cuts down on the expenses. There is money for all of the top four placements, most of the time." He gestured to Flambeau. "And I would put this fellow to work with some of your heavy hunter mares before you go, possibly get some replacement horses down the line."

"Oh, don't worry, I intend to! As soon as I get home! Ser Gervais even helped me find a mare for Beauvisage last spring. He's got a foal due any time now."

De Mornay gave Beauvisage a pat. "Hah! You old rascal, you!" He folded his arms across the roan's back.

"The tournaments, they are not such a bad course for a second son to take," he said earnestly. "If you are good enough, you can actually make some money, even on the minor circuit. And you can find connections and…other things." He grinned. "I met my Melisse at a tournament. "Carried her favor. She gave me her heart…and a rather good-sized manor just happened to come with it."

"You're a second son?"

"Guilty as charged. My father knew that I was good with horses and entreated Tallyvere to teach me, so that I could make my own way in the world. I'd actually assumed your father had done the same for you."

"No, Father only did it because I'd begged him to for a solid year and he finally decided I was serious about this. I don't think he'd be happy with me being a tournament follower. He wants me to make a good marriage."

"Perhaps he will feel differently when he sees the advantages."

"Perhaps. Egile isn't very good, is he?"

"No, he isn't. Strictly minor circuit at this point. It is not that hard to defeat him. But that last run of yours…" De Mornay smiled in reminiscence. "That was beautiful, regardless. Picture perfect. I doubt even Tallyvere could have found anything to criticize."

"Oh, I don't know about _that_!" Both of them laughed. De Mornay gave Beauvisage one last swipe of the rag, then threw it into the basket that held the brushes. "I think we're about done here, my lord." He came around to Corin. "Hold out your hand." When Corin did so, he received a small purse that was pleasantly heavy in his palm.

"I got five to one from everyone, and Raimond gave me _ten_-to-one! This might help a little with that money problem you mentioned earlier."

"I suppose I could reserve it just for that," Corin agreed, smiling. De Mornay bowed.

"It has been a pleasure, my lord, the profit aside. Do send me a letter next spring, if you intend to go to Lydes. I will write you some introductory letters, to some of Tallyvere's other men. We look after each other. And each other's horses." He walked off into the gathering night.

* * *

><p>"What do you mean, you <em>gave<em> Flambeau to _Cousland_!" Deslarnes screeched. He'd been healed and bathed and was now in bed. A decidedly _empty_ bed, since Sophie had declared he wasn't touching her now and perhaps for a long time into the future- "for letting _her_ necklace be won by a Ferelden dog-pig and given to his _hag_ of a mother!"

"He unhorsed you," Antoine said, leaning casually against one of the bed posts at the foot of the bed. "Flambeau was his by right_. Everything_ of yours was. You should be grateful he gave the rest of it back."

"It wasn't a _real pas_!"

"Wasn't it? You made a point of having me explain the rules to the crowd, along with the changes to them. You let me state that Cousland's horse was not at risk, but you didn't say that yours wasn't as well."

"Why would I have? I didn't think he was _in_ any danger! _Cousland_ was supposed to go down!"

"Yes, I know. Because you thought Cousland was just someone who'd tilted at a quintain now and again and you could knock him into the muck and make yourself out to be a big man. A big, bad Orlesian chevalier. In front of the King of Ferelden." Antoine frowned. "Thank you for admitting that you intended all along for this contest to do bodily harm to the son of the Teyrn of Highever."

Deslarnes was purple. "You are _finished_, De Mornay! Finished, I tell you! When I tell my father what happened here-

"-He will probably thank me profoundly and agree that giving Flambeau up was a gracious way of defusing the situation. The only thing I will be chastised for is for being stupid enough to think that you had some discretion and sense in the first place, and for letting you get into trouble. Which chastisement is quite valid and which I will happily endure." De Mornay reached within his rather plain leather doublet, pulled out a sizeable purse and bounced it on his palm, smiling at the jingle it made.

"What is that money?" Deslarnes demanded.

"_This_? Oh, this is the two hundred sovereigns I won for asking a few questions," De Mornay said airily. "You know, little things like if Cousland really knew how to tilt and if so, how long had he been doing it and who had taught him? _Those_ little things. The things you couldn't be troubled to find out; assuming that just because he was Fereldan, he couldn't possibly know anything about the noble art of the joust. And when I discovered that Cousland _did_ know how to tilt, that he's been tilting for the last two years under the tutelage of Ser Gervais Tallyvere, and that Tallyvere had cleared him for the minor circuit, well…I made a few bets. You know how I am."

He smiled down at the apoplectic young lord. It was a very unpleasant smile.

"You're _stupid_, Egile. Stupid and careless and arrogant. It was those sorts of failings that lost us this country in the first place. And it's those sorts of failings that will cost you your life in the Great Game." He paused to consider for a moment. "Or perhaps they will gain you lifelong employment instead. In Val Royeaux Chantry. Cleaning those lovely mosaics in the vestibule. All day long. With a very tiny brush."

* * *

><p>The next day, the tournament participants began to set off for their homes. Last to arrive, the Highever party was almost the last to leave as well, waiting until they were sure Deslarnes was well down the road before returning Iona to Lady Landra's care. It was close to noon before they finally got on the road.<p>

Eleanor Cousland looked out the carriage window at her youngest son, who was riding his beautiful new horse. It might have been a silly fancy, but she thought that the stallion looked much happier beneath her son.

"I'm afraid that I still don't understand this obsession of his, Bryce," she told her husband, who leaned close to gaze out with her. At that moment, they were cresting the lip of the valley Loren's manor lay in. The early spring sun was scudding in and out of clouds. It peeked out and ignited the stallion into red and gold flame. He launched into a gallop and they could hear Corin's laughter falling down the hill behind him.

"'And the Maker took the airs of the Heavens and the fire of the Earth and he made the Horse,'" Bryce quoted softly. "Perhaps it's the power and beauty, all tamed to your hand."

"Well, whatever the reason, he is a _good_ lad, Bryce."

"On that we certainly agree, my dear. And I feel certain he'll make his own way, on whichever path he decides is his."

* * *

><p>From the monthly packet from Auguste Deslarnes, Marquis Deslarnes, Ambassador With Portfolio to the Court of Cailan, King of Ferelden, to Her Imperial Majesty, Celene I of Orlais:<p>

_In closing, there is one small matter I would bring to Your Imperial Majesty's attention. Antoine De Mornay recently had the opportunity to meet the Teyrn of Highever's younger son. As you know, he has not been seen at court during the time I have been here. _

_It may interest you to know that Corin Cousland has been studying the art of the joust under Ser Gervaise Tallyvere and that Tallyvere is back in our country at this moment, procuring a competition horse and armor for him. You will probably have acquired this information from other sources already, but since I know that you desire greatly to have conversation with Ser Gervais, I tell you myself as well._

_Antoine's judgment is good, as we both know. He asks me to tell you that Cousland speaks fluent Orlesian and that despite having only seventeen years, is shaping to be a gallant and courageous gentleman. He also says that he shows some interest in and skill for the joust, unhorsing my own son in a friendly competition. Antoine feels that these qualities and his rank, which is equivalent to the son of a duke according to our College of Heralds, may make him a possible choice of husband for the Princess Henriette, particularly since she appears to be disinterested in any male not possessing four legs, a mane and a tail. According to Antoine, Cousland is handsome enough that in combination with a handsome horse, he might attract even Henriette's eye. There was the inevitable jest about "a good seat". Given that the King is married, and Fergus Cousland is as well, Corin Cousland is truly the only high noble Ferelden male available at present, other than the Arl of Amaranthine's two sons. Rendon Howe's eldest is said to be a drunkard and the younger son is in the Free Marches under some sort of cloud of familial displeasure._

_Such decisions are yours, of course and as Henriette has just turned fifteen I know that there is no great hurry as of yet. But I also know of your concern about this matter and your fervent desire to make a good match for her, so I give this information to you for your consideration._

_In your service, I gratefully remain,_

_Your ambassador,_

_Auguste Deslarnes_


End file.
